


On Lethe's Shores

by Songspinner



Series: DMC Gen Week [3]
Category: DmC: Devil May Cry
Genre: DMC Gen Week, Gen, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-27 21:33:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20052862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Songspinner/pseuds/Songspinner
Summary: Sparda flees Mundus' attack on Paradise with his sons as together they grieve the loss of their angel. Soon, he reaches a heartbreaking conclusion about what he must do to keep them safe--at any cost.Part of DMC Gen Week on tumblrDay 3 Prompt: Grief/Sleep





	On Lethe's Shores

**Author's Note:**

> The "sleep" portion of this is somewhat inspired by KH: Chain of Memories/Birth by Sleep.

“I’m going out there.”

“Dante, no!” Vergil grabbed his brother’s arm, his heart leaping into his throat at the thought that Dante might leave him alone. “Mother told us to stay here!”

“Get off me, Vergil!” His brother yanked free of his grasp and pushed the closet door open. “Didn’t you hear what she said? Somebody found us, I’m gonna find out who.” He started to leave, then paused and turned back to Vergil with an uncharacteristically serious look. “You stay here. I’ll be right back, I promise. I just wanna see.”

Vergil stared at him with wide blue eyes. “But…”

Dante shut the door before he could say any more, and he was left in the dark, by himself.

***

“I’ll kill you! _I’ll kill you!”_

“Dante, _be quiet._” Sparda dragged his son away from the bloody scene. He knew Eva hadn’t bought them much time. He had to get the boys out of here, far away from Mundus. Her sacrifice would not be in vain.

“Let go of me! Let go!” Dante squirmed and fought every step of the way, desperate to get back to his mother’s side.

Sparda put the boy down, but took his shoulders firmly in both hands and crouched to look him in the eye. _“Listen.”_ Even Dante knew better than to argue with his father when he used that tone. “We cannot strike back now. Your mother has given us the gift of time and we must use it wisely. Do you understand?”

Dante’s eyes were filled with tears and burning with rage, but he nodded, swallowing.

“Good. Where is Vergil?”

“He’s this way.” Dante pointed and then ran in that direction, with Sparda right on his heels.

They found Vergil exactly where Dante had left him, huddled alone and terrified in the closet, barely daring to breathe. He jumped with a gasp when Sparda opened the door, clearly assuming the worst, but sobbed with relief when he saw them. Sparda held out a hand. “Come.”

Vergil leapt up to grab it, looking up at him in fear. “Where’s Mother?”

Dante opened his mouth to answer, ready to explode again into heartbreaking fury, but Sparda placed a finger over his lips firmly. “Not now. We have to go.” He took his other son by the hand, too, and strode with haste to the nearest window. In one smooth motion, he tucked both boys under his arms and crashed through the window to the burning garden below. He’d take devil form if he had to, fight if he had to, but every second he stayed to deal with Mundus’ troops was a second he didn’t have to put as much distance as he could between the demons and his children. So instead, he just ran.

***

They had to tell Vergil what happened, of course, and while Dante wept and swore vengeance, his brother just…stared into space. Sparda was worried he’d gone into shock, but he didn’t have the faintest idea how to fix that, so he let Vergil be for now.

He stood gazing up at the moon, lost in thought, while one twin sat silent and still on a swing and the other smashed his little fists into the stone wall over and over again with wordless cries, ignoring the way the skin of his knuckles tore open and bled. Sparda ignored it too—they’d heal soon enough—and wondered what Eva would have done in this moment, were their positions switched. Had it only been seven years since the children were born? Seven years, a mere blink after the millennia they’d endured. And yet, he felt he’d lived more in that blink than he ever had as a demon warlord.

Eva…he could barely fathom the idea that she was gone. He’d known Mundus would stop at nothing to hunt them down, but that had always been a distant fear, one he thought would take much longer to truly threaten them. He thought Dante and Vergil would be grown before bloodshed and loss shattered their innocence. He thought he would have more time to cherish them, to cherish _her_. Her kindness, her mercy, the way her eyes sparkled in the moonlight and her shining hair danced like flames when she spun into his arms. Her love, warm and bright as the sun. Hell had no room for light like hers, and he’d left all the power he could have ever wanted behind just to bask in it for as long as he dared. For the first time, he’d had a real home, like humans had. She’d taught him what joy was. It was Paradise.

And the miracle that was these children…he remembered the nephilim of old, unholy terrors in a wilder world where war was thunderous and grandiose, not fought with cowardly schemes and slimy words behind closed doors. He’d feared and hated them then. It was the one thing upon which the demonic hordes and angelic hosts had agreed: the nephilim must perish. And perish they did.

In Dante’s passionate violence and in Vergil’s cold, empty gaze he saw hints of what they could someday grow to be. And yes, the devils _should_ fear them…if only they were given time enough for “someday.”

A flicker of movement and the slightest sound were all he had as warning before the scout harpy vanished again into the alley behind the playground. “Stay here,” he growled at the boys, reaching out to summon Rebellion to hand. Vergil didn’t even look up. Dante was obviously about to follow his father, hands balled back into fists with a murderous glint in his eyes. Children weren’t supposed to be murderous, he thought. If Dante were human…he shook his head and put it out of his mind. The twins weren’t human, and never would be. “Dante, you must look after your brother.”

“But—” Dante turned, obviously expecting Vergil to be right there with him, demanding to fight. The words died on his lips when he finally realized that Vergil hadn’t moved since they arrived. He marched over and planted himself in front of the swing set as though all the demons in the world couldn’t move him from that spot. “I got it.”

Sparda didn’t wait a second longer, dashing into the alley and around the corner. He reared back with Rebellion and a fiery transformation snaked down its length; he whipped it forward and Ophion’s demonic claw snapped out to fling the harpy back toward him, squawking in surprise. He grabbed it around its scrawny neck with his other hand and crushed it against the wall, a deadly red gleam in his eyes. “Did you think finding us would win you accolades from your master? Tsk. You should have known better than to think you would make it back to beg for them.” The harpy writhed and clawed at him in futile protest, screeching. With a flick of his wrist, he let Ophion vanish. “Living as a human does not make me one of them.” As he thrust his hand toward the harpy’s chest, the Yamato appeared in it just in time to skewer demon and wall both like a hellish kebab in one clean blow. With a final wail, the scout disintegrated in a burst of feathers.

Sparda pulled the katana free of the stone and twirled it once to flick the harpy’s blood from the blade before sliding it carefully into the sheath he summoned into his other hand. _…this is only the first of many._ The thought struck him like lightning. He could certainly dispatch one, or five, or twenty. But Mundus had countless disposable minions, and there was only one of Sparda. Sooner or later, he wouldn’t be able to protect his sons, and they were too small yet to protect themselves. Sooner or later they would suffer for his transgressions.

Unless…

Dante was still rooted in place between an unresponsive Vergil and the alley’s shadows when Sparda returned, but his face had lost some of its stubborn resolve, taking on instead an edge of worry. “Vergil won’t talk to me,” he said.

Sparda frowned, then knelt down on the meager grass in front of the swing. The boy sitting there looked tiny and fragile to him. He hadn’t known that nephilim began as more or less human children before they came into their true power, nor had he known how many years that would take. Every second that ticked by felt like an eternity of danger for these beautiful miracles he called his sons. His angel had given her life for the chance that they might survive. He could do no less…but his life was not enough.

“Vergil.” He lifted Yamato in its scabbard and laid it across the child’s lap. “I need you to take care of this for me.”

The boy finally reacted, blinking and focusing his eyes first on the weapon, then on his father. “Your sword?”

“Yes. This is Yamato.” He gently closed Vergil’s small hands around it. “One day, when you’re ready, it will come to you in your hour of need.”

Vergil looked at Dante, an unspoken question. Dante’s brow was furrowed, and he shrugged. The pale-haired twin clutched the scabbard to his chest and turned back to Sparda. “Don’t _you_ need it?”

Sparda felt an alien choking, burning sensation behind his eyes and in his throat. Was this…was he going to cry? How strange. “Not anymore, my son. Now it’s yours.” He reached up to touch the amulet Vergil wore around his neck. It glowed with a clear blue light that spread to embrace the sword, and with a sudden flash it was gone.

Vergil gasped, staring at his hands. “Where did it go?”

“It’s a part of you now.” Sparda stood as Vergil hopped down from the swing. “As I will always be a part of you. And you will always be a part of each other.”

The twins exchanged glances. “Father, are you…” Vergil started, then Dante finished, “…leaving?”

_Could_ he do it? Sparda wondered. Could he leave them alone in a world made for humans by a malicious tyrant who would wipe them from the Earth given half a chance? But he had to. Being with him only put them in grave danger. And being together meant they would never be able to put the past behind them. Would never be free of their father’s mistakes. They needed time to grow up and become strong without constantly looking over their shoulders.

“No,” he said. “I’m going home.” He lifted a hand to silence the immediate protests. “Your mother wanted you to be safe, and so do I. You’ll grow up among the humans, where the devil won’t find you. And you mustn’t remember any of this.”

He reached a hand toward Vergil, but the boy backed away from him, looking half-horrified and half-furious. For a moment, he looked _exactly_ like Dante. “No!”

“Vergil—”

“No, you can’t, I won’t let you!”

“…I’m afraid, my son, you have no choice.”

To his surprise, it was Dante who stepped in to put a hand on Vergil’s shoulder. “It’s okay,” he said. “You really think you could forget me forever?” He grinned. It was an uncertain grin, but it seemed to make Vergil relax just a little. “We’re twins, stupid.”

“_You’re_ stupid.” But it had no venom in it. “…I don’t want to forget.”

“It’s better this way.” Sparda crouched to look Vergil in the eye and cupped his son’s face in his hands, memorizing the pale blue eyes, the silvery-blond hair, the curve of his cheeks. He’d always thought the boys looked more like Eva than like him, and he was more grateful for that right now than he’d ever been. “I love you, Vergil. If you remember nothing else, remember that.”

He saw tears well up in the boy’s eyes, and he knew Vergil wouldn’t want him or Dante to see him cry, so he channeled his demonic power into his touch and shut down his son’s mind piece by piece. He sank memory after memory into a city of lost things and locked away his true potential behind layers of mental walls. “It’s time to sleep,” he said, and although Vergil willfully tried to keep his eyes open, he soon fell into a deep slumber, collapsing into his father’s arms.

Dante looked alarmed. “Is he okay?”

“He will be fine. His mind must rest, to rebuild around the holes I’ve left.” Sparda straightened up, holding Vergil close. “Come, Dante. We’ll find a place for him. And then it’s your turn.”

Dante didn’t say anything, just nodded with his jaw clenched, following his father out of the playground and into the vast night. Sparda was no expert at reading people, but it was clear even to him that the dark-haired twin was just as upset as his brother had been but refused to admit it. He knew that handing his sons over to strangers would hurt much more than anything Mundus could do to him, would break his heart and drown him in sorrow. But it was for the best. He’d go back to Paradise and make a last stand, avenge the love and happiness Mundus ripped from his grasp in what small way he could before they dragged him back to Hell. He’d keep them busy long enough to let the twins’ trail go cold, and the children would wake knowing nothing of angels or demons, of war or terror or their mother’s blood pooling on a marble floor. And they would be safe, at least for a time.


End file.
